


Yours Truly

by TheWritingMustache



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Brothers, Gen, Survival, character crossovers, post apocylyptic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 17:02:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWritingMustache/pseuds/TheWritingMustache
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fifty years have passed since The End. Two brothers are running for their lives, criss crossing across the former United States, dodging enemies and just trying to survive. Their world is a dangerous one, and anything can happen to tear them apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yours Truly

**Author's Note:**

> what isn't explained in this chapter will be in future chapters. Don't expect speedy updates any time soon.
> 
> for this chapter, italicized text is in Arabic

Altaïr heard the roar of the planes long before he saw them. He didn't bother looking up at the sky to try and spot them. He simply  scooped his little brother off the ground, and ran. The weight in his arms hardly slowed him down, his strong legs had the strength to carry him and anything else to wherever they needed to go.

"Altear!" his brother shirked. "Panes!"

Altaït grimaced, sprinting for some kind of shelter, and being out on an abandoned highway was not helping at all. All he managed to find in time was a dip next to the side of the road, and he jumped down into it. He pressed his brother to the ground and crouched over him. The planes roared overhead, the sound buzzing loudly in his ears, but he didn't move. His little brother was sobbing hysterically, but Altaïr was too scared to make any sort of movement, less the pilots above see him. 

He didn't even look up to see who the planes might belong to. Nobody in the world privately owned a plane. All planes belong to only two groups, the Government, and Abstergo. Every pre-caution had to be taken with both of them. The Government would take Altaiïr and Desmond in. They would be tested. They would be separated. Altaïr would become one of their soldiers and forced out on the front lines. Abstergo would so, so much worse. He had never heard a single good thing about Abstergo, and he was intent on staying away from them as much as possible.

At least the Government's army would just shoot them. Abstergo was torture.

The planes had flown away and it wasn't until only his brother's loud sobbing was the only sound he could hear. "Desmond….Desmond, shhh, it's okay" Altaïr cooed at his brother, lifting him up to cradle the toddler in his arms. At three years old, Desmond is terrified of the planes that roar overhead like buzzards. The loud noises spook him, the sight terrifying, and what may be in the plane nightmarish. Too many times had they heard of planes being the death of people, too many times watched from afar as bombs fell from their bellies to decimate settlements. Death from above is an all too real possibility,

It takes time, but Altaïr finally manages to clam the younger boy down. They crawled out of the dip, the world around them completely unchanged. But Altaïr is wary, planes never fly too far from where they are stationed, as fuel is so incredibly precious. He studies the trails in the sky that are leftover, and decides to go in the direction away from the flight path. With the trails directly overhead in nearly straight lines, he turns right, and carries his brother away.

It's better to get off the highway, and just travel away from the designated path in general. Desmond has cried himself out, dozing fitfully in Altaïr's arms, small hands clutching at his chest for dear life. Altaïr himself feels weary, the adrenaline from running and hiding wearing off, reminding him of how exhausted he really is. He's hardly eaten all day, most of their food saved for Desmond (whenever the toddler could be tempted to eat at least). He had been walking since early that morning and had only a few hours rest the night before. 

But he marches on anyway until another section of the highway comes into view and he follows that along. By then, the sun is starting to dip below the horizon. They needed to find shelter, soon. A settlement was no where in sight, and it was fate's guess as to when one would be found. One with fresh food and water and a warm blanket to huddle under. While is spring is pleasant during the day, the nights are bone chillingly cold. A very sickly being could easily freeze to death. It is Altaïr's greatest fear that one morning he shall awaken to find his already thin brother blue as ice, never to feel the sun's ray on his tan cheek again. 

The muscles in his legs ached dully, his feet begging for a rest, but Altaïr does not stop. He must always keep moving, he must never stay in one place for too long. He must let no one catch them. These are words his father told him three years ago. His father told him to watch over Desmond, love him and protect him like a brother. Let no one capture either of them. 

They still needed shelter, however. And this stretch of the highway was almost barren. The sun is already dipping below the horizon by the time they find shelter. A car stripped of its most valuable parts, leaving behind an almost empty shell. One of the doors was missing, providing an in and out to the car. Altaïr carefully set Desmond down and shed off his shoddy backpack. Desmond began to whimper as Altaïr approached the car, pulling out a switchblade from his boot and flicking it open.

He peered into the shell, the front seats gone, but the backseats still possibly in place. In the growing darkness, he searched for anything that may reside inside, especially a possible threat. to be safe, Altaïr switched to his second sight. The world turned gray, and nothing of extreme importance popped out at him. It was safe inside.

"Altear" Desmond whined pitifully. Altaïr turned back to his brother, the small boy shimmering a bright blue. His second sight faded, and his brother whined again, looking ready to start sobbing endlessly once more.

"Don't worry, I'm still here" Altaïr reassured, walking back to the boy and scooping him and the pack up. Desmond clung to Altaïr's neck desperately, sniffling and whimpering as he was carried to the car and put inside. Altaïr huddled with him on the backseat, drawing the small body close. A fire would be impossible in here, and leaving the shelter if the car would be fatal. They were fortunate to have found a shelter at all.

They lied on the backseat for the rest of the night, not daring to move, not daring to lose so much as a second of shared body heat. Despite how tired Altaïr felt, his mind was restless. He kept his eyes locked on the windows, almost waiting for some shadowy phantom to pass. He feared soldiers more, Government soldiers patrolling through and discovering them. Or Abstergo agents, seeking out anyone they could and torturing them.

Or worse yet, being found by _Templars_.

Altaïr knew that the Templars controlled Abstergo. But he knew they would never miss a chance to capture or kill an Assassin. And while Altaïr had been away from the Assassins for a few years, he doubted the Templars would care. 

_"You both contain the blood to wield great power. Let no one take you, or else you will be nothing more than a boy sized toy to them!"_

Somehow Altaïr always knew his father was talking about Abstergo and the Templars. And from every story he had heard from sympathetic housewives or helpful huntsmen, they always told of Abstergo agents swarming a town for someone with "Eden blood". And those with such blood were taken away to never be seen again, or killed on the spot.

"Eden bloods" were usually people gifted with amazing powers and skills, and Abstergo  desperately sought them out. Anyone who turned such a person in was normally rewarded with money or lavish food, or something of incredible value. And if what his father had once implied was true, then he, Altaïr and Desmond, were "Eden blooded". Thus it was incredibly important to let no one capture them. Even the sweetest of people slept with a knife beneath their heads each night.

"Altear, Altear" Desmond said, tugging at his shirt. Without even waiting for a response back, the toddler began to babble on, about what Altaïr did not pay attention to. Rather, his mind focused on the sound alone, and it was incredibly comforting to listen to. Despite his age, Desmond was a reluctant talker, only ever speaking in very short sentences, or just forcing a single word out. It was times like this, when the toddler felt safe did he suddenly start to talk in waves. It was mostly nonsense, just thoughts and words thrown together at random. But Altaïr could still pick out words in both English and Arabic. 

For that, Altaïr felt insanely proud. He grew up speaking both languages, his parents had taught him both as a baby. And without even meaning to, he had done the exact sane with Desmond. Granted, Desmond didn't know the exact difference between them yet, and often spoke in mixed sentences. But Altaïr loved hearing him talk anyway, loved knowing his tiny brother did have some sort of personality to him.

"Altear, Altear" Desmond chattered at him. "Izza…Izza da uh, da pace comin _soon_? I can…I cab has a uh, Izza gonna be uh, _bread_? Izza-"

Altaïr pulled the younger boy closed and littered his face with light kisses. "Noooooo" Desmond squealed, trying to wiggle away from him.

"When we get there, yes. I'll get some bread for you" Altaïr promised. Desmond squealed again, practically vibrating with excitement and anticipation.

"Wit, wit da, _honey_ , peaaaase?"

"If I can find some"

"Eeeehehehehe"

Altaïr finally let his eyes slide shut and his body relax. Desmond started to chatter on again, something about _sugar_ and grass or something that finally lulled him to sleep.

 

X-X-X

 

_Yours Truly, 2055_


End file.
